


1000 Words

by kawaishiri



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: AU, M/M, kawaishiri, shiri-imagining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:23:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6389980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawaishiri/pseuds/kawaishiri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ciel is an aspiring painter with the right skills and talent, yet he cannot find a source of inspiration for his artworks. That is, until a certain barista catches his eye...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _A picture is worth a thousand words_  
>  This will be a multichap fic!  
> Rn chapters 1 and 2 are only about 1000 words long, but I will be writing more after that.

"Augh, fuck."  
I curse at my own brain. My fingers dig and tug into the dark locks of my hair, curling and uncurling, shifting the strands and tangling them in a matted mess. I can't think of anything. I can't think of one fucking thing to pull out of this measly incapable little grey glob of mine and I hate it. I need something to create, to sketch, to paint, but I can't think of anything and it's painful – it's excruciating.

"Is there a problem, Mr Phantomhive?" A voice says somewhere behind me. I'm too absorbed in my own desolating self-pity to even take much notice of it, but once the squeaky monstrosity of it speaks again I'm ripped forcefully from my own thoughts to let that piercing, nasal.. Thing envelop my ears.

"Ciel, are you okay?"

Oh, it's my art professor. 

"No.." I begin, dropping my limp arms onto the table, a soft thud of the two appendages knocking against the wood. I don't even let her ask what's wrong with me because it's obvious and inevitable. It would be something tedious for her if she does. So naturally, I just proceed to fill her in with all the details.

"I'm having trouble finding inspiration.. I can't even pull out anything from my head today."

"Mm." She pauses for a moment to think. I don't look towards her direction as my head is still hanging down in my frustration. It's a bit sad, really. I'm the ace of my class, the expert of a brush; it's like I'm a master of fine arts, my hands skilled and experienced with many more years than they actually do have. I've only been painting for a few years – maybe four, if I remember correctly – and never really did it seriously until two years ago. Anyway, I'm this skilled yet nothing can come from this useless head of mine. I really do lack the creativity to be a real da Vinci in my opinion, but there's nothing that can change that unless something out there that I find completely fascinating does truly exist..

Eugh. I hear that wretched squeaking again.

"I've noticed, Ciel."

"Yes?" Noticed? Noticed what?

"You haven't done many paintings on the human body, I think that would be an interesting area to study."

"Human body, huh."

I must admit. Even though I find her voice to be the most painful thing to listen to all day, I do not hate her. In fact she's one of my closer friends... If you could call a teacher a friend. I've come to the realization throughout my university years that I've really only had a few people close to me. That included my art teacher and my best friend, Alois. He's the sweetest of sweethearts, albeit being constantly needy and clingy.

"Well it is just a suggestion, Ciel. You don't have to take it if you don't like it." Oops. Was I silent for too long?

"Oh no, it's not that. The only thing is I'd.. Need someone to model for me. I simply cannot work from a photograph." Too bad my little angel cannot sit or stand in the same position posing for a long time. He'd be terribly fidgety and it would ruin my work. The only option left would then be my–

Oh, oh no. Don't tell me this middle-aged wrinkly lady wants to be my muse, please. I look up. I see her and she's smirking. Oh woe, oh woe is me. Oh woe is the two blue orbs sitting in my sockets ready to be burned into and destroyed by a million pruney suns!

"Don't worry, I'll find you a muse."

Oh praise the Lord! My senses won't have to be bombarded by any more of this lovely, but not so appealing-in-everything-else lady. I smile, because I'm utterly glad I won't have to see her in the nude but also because she's willing to help me find a muse to fish me from my current deep despairing ocean of misery that is my artist's block.

\--

Class is finished and I'm on my way to my favourite café. I absolutely love coffee. Coffee is my drug. I drink it in the morning and usually after my art classes so often that it's become a daily routine for me. It's like I can't live without that heavenly taste of caffeine-rich liquid. God. Just thinking about the bittersweet at the tip of my tongue makes me lick my teeth in anticipation, my mouth watering as I hastily push open the wide glass doors to the café.

Mm.. Here I am.

I inhale the intoxicating, earthy scent as I saunter my way over to the counter. It's all so familiar and my whole body goes through the motions like it's done this a million times – because it has. My hand thrusts into my right pocket, feeling for change I usually keep inside and manages to scoop up a small collection of coins. I know it's the right amount. I can feel the weight of it in my palm and the familiar shapes with my fingers. The workers here know me well since I come here too often. They know me so well that I don't even have to say my order; sometimes they simply just take the cash I let fall onto their hands and make the drink.

So I do exactly that. I bring my cupped hand above the cash register as I let my eyes fall onto the man behind the counter, a slight curve of a smile on my lips, ready to drop the coins as I say, "the usual please."

But the man behind the counter looks confused. Flustered even, at the sight of me and my gesture. Is there something wrong? Can he not remember me? "Oh."

And suddenly, it hit me. This guy's face – I've never seen this face before. He must be new.

"H-Hello? May I help you?"

By God, he's handsome.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I ogle those arms like it's my profession."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long to upload!  
> I'll get chapter 3 done much quicker and longer, promise  
> Thanks for the support!

I'm slapped hard, right in the face by this man's beauty that it's left me frozen and stiff. He is the embodiment of sex-appeal. Take me to church because every second my eyes are graced with his good looks I commit another hundred sins.

"I'm sorry, sir, what is your usual..?"

Ah, the Adonis speaks. Truly, what a masterpiece, as if molded by an expert, a master of the arts. Each detail of him is just truly exquisite: that chiseled jaw, those narrowed piercing eyes, the dark silken strands that delicately frame his face and oh– what's this? His gorgeously shaped lips are beginning to frown.

"Sir, there are other customers waiting in line... Um, if you don't mind, please order."

Ahh, what beau– hold on, is he speaking to me? Uhh. Shit.

"Yes, I would like uhm.." I swallow, take a moment to recollect my thoughts and tear my eyes away from this man for now. His face has just become too distracting to look at that I've somehow even forgotten how to think straight. "..I think I'd like, uh, a grandé Mocha please, with extra whipped cream." Damn. I keep my head turned because I can't handle looking at his dumb face and I swallow again because I see him shift in my peripherals.

He seems to be waiting for something, but I can't quite figure what. It doesn't help that he doesn't even let a single word out of his long, hot throat. However he does clear the thing loudly to snap me out of this trance I've been held in for God knows how long.

"Shit, sorry." I utter, handing over my payment with the sudden realisation that I hadn't yet. Then out of nowhere his lips curve into the most dumb fucking grin in existence and-  
It. Just. Kills me.

"What's your name?" He asks with his voice all deep, those piercing eyes held still as he stares right at me.

"Ci.. El." And I stare right at him back.

"Ciel," he repeats, giving a look on his face as if my name is the most adorable thing he had ever come across.

My eyes are shifty as they lose contact with his and he dips his fingers into his front pocket in search of something – probably a sharpie – with my vision landing on the little name tag pinned perfectly onto his black tight-fitting shirt. 'Sebastian'. Fascinating. Though he seems to find my name much more so by the way he curls the letters of it onto a plastic cup, presumably to be used for my drink, with that idiot grin still plastered all over his mouth.

"Sebastian."

He looks up, the lost expression stretching his fine features making me almost swoon over this impossibly handsome man, as if I were a woman. Those achingly beautiful orbs meet mine again and instantly my breath is stolen from me, only now realising that his own name is pinned onto his shirt. He proceeds with a cute chuckle and lifts the plastic cup nestled in the palm of his hand. "This is how you spell your name, right?"

"Perfect."

Our next silence only lasts a few minutes, though it feels like an eternity because I ogle those arms like its my profession – the way they tense and stretch and the thought of what else they could do, other than make coffee, causes me to sigh in wonder. Imagine it – taught and naked in their glory. Though, I know I can't just go up to this new barista and say 'hey, you, strip for me.' That would be a bit too straightforward and I might scare the poor man. Shame, it would have been nice to use him as an reference for my artwork.

“Here you are Ciel.” Sebastian says handing over my mocha. I stop though, just for a second because I think my eyes are deceiving me. I admit that I’ve been pausing much too frequently these past few minutes but this man, this barista, he’s checking me out like he has the whole century just to spend laying his stupid eyes all over my body. Hah, look at this fucking guy- this creep. But I don't hate it, in fact I'm intrigued. Maybe there's a stain on my shirt that caught his attention. Maybe my clothing choice of a grey turtleneck and jeans isn't the most tasteful in his eyes. His clothing choice isn't the best either anyway.

"Find me sexy huh?" I ask, taking my coffee and posing like one of those male models you would find on a magazine.

He laughs.

"Hah, oh, no I mean I'm not gay I'm sorry. I was just curious about your ID." Sebastian explains.

"This ol' thing? You want to stalk me?"

"No, no, of course not. I'm just.. Is that your university?"

"Yeah, of course. If you haven't noticed yet," I gesture to myself, "I take art as a course there."

"Oh, art?" He perks up a little, a small curve tracing his lips

"Pffff I mean, if I wasn't an artist what would I be doing in a coffee shop?"

"That makes sense."

"Of course it does."

We smile at each other.

"I'm actually applying for a small position in.. That university."

"No way!" My body almost gets a high from hearing those few words release from his mouth. Barista boy's going to serve coffee at our uni too? The crap they serve will finally be fixed! "When are you starting?"

"I'm starting on Wednesday, maybe."

"Wednesday! Let me-"

"CIEL YOU FUCKING SLUT!"


End file.
